Tag Archives: Single Life

Meat Market Surprise

Version 2

Meat Market Surprise

Her low-cut dress clearly bespoke
her dire need to meet a bloke.
When she removed her swathing cloak,
a dozen men at once awoke
from barroom reveries to choke
on swallows of their Rum and Coke
or beer or whisky. “Okeedoke!”
their eyes said, as they shared the joke.
Which one would have the night’s best poke?
One chugged his drink, as if to stoke
his courage. One more took a toke.
They circled round, craving the yoke
of one night’s spree–perhaps a soak
in penthouse hot tub most Baroque?
Then, as though wishes could invoke
more luck, a mini-skirt and toque-
clad example of fine womanfolk
appeared , more passions to provoke—
another goddess made to evoke
a duel, heart attack or stroke!
But then, alas, their bubbles broke
as she sauntered up and pulled an oak
stool to the bar and spoke.
Her voice was sultry—fire and smoke—
as she killed their dreams in one fell stroke.
“Darling,” she said to the other miss,
enfolding her in an ardent kiss.

The prompt word today is “bespoke.”

Oners: Cee’s Black and White Challenge, Isolated Subjects

Isolation can have a beauty of its own, especially in contrast to details that might invite company.  If you’d like to see these photos better, please click on the first one. Also, please be patient as it may be necessary to wait for a few of the photos to come into focus.


The prompt was “isolated subjects.”

Odd Little Saturday Morning Poem

Odd Little Saturday Morning Poem

I lie in bed, flat on my back, head raised by pillows,
computer raised to eye level
by a wadded comforter over bent knees.
I listen to raised voices in the village down below,
the staccato of an inadequately mufflered car revving up,
a hammer falling on wood, birds in the coco  palms.
A pianissimo chorus of dogs spread
over the surrounding hills swells to a frenzied crescendo,
then falls silent but will swell again.

I have dropped obligations
like clothes shed for a lover.
My Saturday morning pool aerobics and zumba,
I slipped out of years ago.
Group luncheons hang from doorknobs and chair backs.
Committee meetings lie sloppily abandoned in the hall.

I have retired from the running of the world
to run my own small universe on paper.
Saturday morning is my brainstorm session
with “Me,” “Myself” and “I.”
“I” suggested feeding the dogs,
but they are quiet now, so
“Me” suggested we let them lie.
“Myself” laid out some words to dry
in the heat of the fire of our communal
inspiration, laying them smoothly on the page,
rumpling up others in her fist to send them sailing
to join the crumpled singles event invitations in the corner.

This slow Saturday morning dressing of pages
and stripping them bare
is a sort of ceremony celebrating seizing time
and making it my own.
Pages  fill up with passion, angst, anger,
irritation, joy, laughter, camaraderie.
There is more than one word for each.

Imagine such control over your world–
not having to live the world of any other.
If you could have any life you wish?
Imagine a Saturday morning  building it.


The Prompt:  Me Time–What do you like to do on Saturday morning?  Are you doing it now?

Poetry by Prescription: “Alone”



Alone is not lonely
And single’s no sin.
Solo is only
a state I am in
because I need time
to do what I do.
To scan and to rhyme,
to create and to stew
both poems and soups
without watching the clock
or jumping through hoops
or having to talk.

I really like cooking
dishes for one.
I’m simply not looking
for “coupley” fun.
I like doing art
far into the night.
This freedom is part
of traveling light.
Going solo is groovy.
Single-handed is fun,
and it might behoove you
to try being “one”

instead of a brace
or a duet or pair.
You’ll have all this space.
You’ll have all this air.
Your closet’s your own
to fill up with shoes.
No sharing a phone
and no bathroom queues.
You won’t have to fiddle
with left or with right.
You’ll sleep in the middle
every night!

You’ll eat what you want to
and dine when you wish.
You’ll get to eat tofu
and never eat fish.
You can stay up till dawn
to finish your quilt.
You’re nobody’s pawn,
so you’ll never feel guilt.
Leave coffee cups sitting
all over the house?
It’s behavior most fitting
when bereft of a spouse.

Pop bonbons and read
all day in your bed.
You can meet every need
when you’re no longer wed.
On the other hand though,
you must walk your own dog
and when water comes slow,
must unclog your own clog.
When you blow out a fuse
and your lawn goes unmown,
there are no “honey do’s”
when you’re all on your own!


Today’s “prescription” came from my friend Betty Petersen, a wonderful artist, who asked me to write a poem about the single life. If you have a topic you’d like me to write about, please post it on my blog or send it via Facebook or email.